


For Today We Live

by Vakarian_Marian



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post battle of Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vakarian_Marian/pseuds/Vakarian_Marian
Summary: After fighting the dead, everyone is searching for a way to feel a little more alive.





	For Today We Live

It was probably his smile that did it, but she wasn't sure what she wanted until her hand was on top of his. His eyes softened as Sansa ran her thumb along the back of his hand. 

Oh, she thought, and smiled to herself. She had thought of him, had dreamed of him in the years since she had left King's Landing, but she had always wondered. Had her longing been for someone to come and save her, or had it been for the man who would be doing the saving?

Sansa didn't need saving anymore, but she still wanted Sandor Clegane. 

She let her smile break out as she kept her hand on his longer than was necessary. She told him she had grown, said she was no longer a little bird, but didn't mention how she loved to hear him say it all the same. 

She rose from the table, stared him down again for good measure, and was almost out of the hall before she turned to see the Hound was...still sitting at the table, staring into his ale. 

He looked up as she quietly returned to her still warm seat. “You’re back.” 

Sansa nodded. “I am.” 

Sandor’s eyes narrowed, an improbable blush just barely visible in the candlelight. 

As Sansa reached for him once again, his eyes went wide and he recoiled slightly. This time, she turned his hand over in hers and ran her fingers gently across his palm. “I hadn’t meant to leave alone.”

Sandor looked at where their hands met. Sansa watched his chest rise heavily and then fall. “I’ve heard some girls have too big a weakness for dogs,” he said. 

Sansa leaned in towards him. “I don’t see either here, do you?” 

He dropped his eyes for a moment but when he lifted them again they were steadier. “I suppose I don’t.” 

Sansa's eyes dropped to his mouth. “I want you to do a lot more than suppose” she teased. 

A warm laugh broke from Sandor. “The little bird has claws."

“Among other things,” said Sansa with twist to her lips. 

His hand trembled slightly under hers. She didn’t wonder if he wanted her, but worried for a moment that he wouldn't give in, that he would be too wary to act. She thought of how he had snarled at the eager girl only a few minutes before. Perhaps Sansa had been overconfident to imagine her proposition would be received any differently. 

She let the seductive smirk fall from her face and stared openly at him, letting her uncertainty show for just a moment. I want this, trust me, she silently begged. 

His calloused hand tightened around her wrist.

___________________

 

She pulled her chain over her head and tucked her arms behind her and began to pull open the thick laces on her dress. She felt drunk on her own strength, reckless with her resolve of finally taking something she wanted. 

She spoke these words aloud, telling her Hound what he already knew, that she had never willingly been with someone before. “In that way, you do get the first of me,” she said as she looked up at him with her shoulders held straight. 

Her words had the opposite effect of the one she had hoped, and instead of grabbing her, a soft expression crossed Sandor’s face. He stopped the movement of her hands behind her, and with her dress still half undone he wrapped his arms around her. 

Sansa was shocked still for a moment before she drew her arms around his waist. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so childish. She had been so quick to brag on her pain, she might be pushing away a man who would be kind to her. A man she wanted. 

“Little bird,” he sighed into her hair. “Do you want this?” With his body around hers, his rough voice seemed to vibrate through her. 

She pulled half out of his arms and looked up. “Make me sing,” she said. 

He grabbed her then and it was not gentle, his mouth enclosing hers as she licked back into him. She stepped backwards toward the bed but tripped over the ends of her dress. They both laughed and then Sandor quickly spun her by her shoulders and whispered, “I’ll do it,” into the back of her neck. She felt him loosen the back of her dress, the cool air prickling the newly exposed skin. 

“You’re quite the gentleman,” she teased. He spun her back around as he answered, “More so than you’ve known.” 

They both laughed, Sansa’s crossed arms the only thing still holding her dress up. “There’s more laughing than I thought there would be,” she told him frankly. 

“There’s more talking than I thought there’d be,” Sandor deadpanned. 

She uncrossed her arms. 

She looked away briefly as she stepped out of the dress and kicked it a few feet away. When she met his eyes again, his gaze made her the most beautiful woman in Westeros. She kissed his lips and then his neck as her hands helped him out of his own clothes. 

When there was nothing between them, she scrambled to get her thighs up and around his waist as he carried her to the bed as steadily as he could with her mouth doing it’s best to distract him. 

He made the sweetest sounds when she placed her hand on his face, when she kissed his scars from brow to neck. 

He hooked his arms underneath her legs, pulled her to edge of the bed, and dropped to his knees. The sounds she made then were not sweet at all.

Later, when she pushed herself back to the head on the bed with shaky limbs, she couldn’t decide if it was power or vulnerability she was feeling most, each seemed the answer to a question she had not known to ask. Sandor climbed onto the bed and held himself over her. When his lips touched hers they were slick. 

He moved with her, and for her. He was attentive to every vague “don’t move,” and “just there”, letting her grind against him as the most ridiculous nonsense fell repeatedly out of her mouth. When there were no more calls to wait, he moved into her haltingly, slowing and speeding in patterns that only made sense to him. His hands gripped the back of her head as he braced himself on his elbows. It was not glamorous but neither had she been. 

He would leave the next day with a mostly grunted goodbye. Though he would kiss her tenderly and whisper her name, they made no promises. 

But for now, they said the most tender things, promptly forgetting what they had heard and said, poignant truths meant only to live for mere moments.


End file.
